“Back then it was just a barbed wire fence.”
Liberty tipped his head and squinted at the top of the blood-smeared wall. “How tall is it again? I never remember.”
I shrugged. “Hundred feet. Maybe twice that.”
For a minute we watched four refugees struggle at the postern, where someone had hammered in rail spikes almost halfway up. The guard had yet to take it down. Rumor was six people got over on Sunday. But this family would never make it. Not with a baby.
“Why’d they build it anyway?”
“Well son, back then it was to keep people out.”
This has been an edition of the Friday Fictioneers, hosted by the generous & talented Rochelle Wisoff Fields. This week’s photo courtesy Madison Woods. To read more 100-word flash fiction or to submit your own, click the blue froggy button.